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Good Badger tag

According to our Appalachian Trail guide book, there’s a campground known as the ‘Captain’s” which is basically some former thru-hiker’s backyard. Amongst hikers, it is common knowledge that he intentionally leaves a fridge full of grape and orange soda out on his patio for hikers to enjoy. There’s one caveat, you have to cross a zipline across a river to get there….

When we approach what we assume is the zipline, it appears as though the transport unit is stuck on the other side of the river.

Enter our hero: Whoop(s).

In no mood to be denied a delicious orange soda, Whoop sees the zipline and decides to cross it Navy Seal style to the other side of the river (another hiker has this video and it has been debated that it’s just as, if not funnier than the following – I hope to get this for you soon).

After getting to the other side of the river, it turns out, there is no soda (the “Captains” was actually another quarter mile away). At this point Whoop(s) has already exerted all of his energy and decides to ford the river instead. Hilarity ensues.

They say it takes three weeks of repetitive action before a habit develops. Last Sunday marked my third week on the Appalachian Trail. If the saying is true, then I have developed the following habits:

My natural state is walking.

Hiking poles feel as if they’re extensions of my arms.

I consume the same amount of calories as a buffalo.

I am incapable of getting full.

My “bedroom” smells like the inside of a guy’s high school locker room.

It’s late afternoon of day # 4

We stroll into Low Gap Shelter after a beautiful 13-mile hike. To this point, all hiking has been done in shorts and t-shirt. I have what could be considered the ginger version of a tan. After four consecutive days of averaging 10 miles up and down strenuous terrain with 35 lbs on my back – I feel surprisingly fresh. I have zero blisters (Hi-Tec FTW). Nature and I are doing a mental love tango. I’m smiling unconditionally.

A day-walker "tan"

Life is good.

Then, just prior to dusk, comes the cold front. After a hurried dinner (pasta + spices = barf) due to not being able to secure a spot close enough to the fire, I’m in my tent by 7:00pm because my Euerka sleeping bag (the anti-hypothermia zone) is the only place where I can retain feeling to my appendages. I can see my breath from inside of my bedroom – and the sun has not yet set. It’s going to be that sort of a night.

Although my body is fatigued enough to induce slumber, the repetitive intake of dry ice is less than conducive for rest. Finally I secure a spot that allows from momentary bouts of sleep: sleeping bag wrapped around my head with a 1-inch gap to let oxygen in, face down to let my breath reflect off of my sleeping pad and let the warm air back onto my face.

Life blows.

3.26.2011

After a night of 15-minute naps which accumulated to maybe three hours of sleep, I am confronted with the task of getting out of my sleeping bag to put on slightly damp hiking clothes to prepare for the 15 miles that lay ahead of us for the day. I go from really effing cold to outer space cold when I enter into my layer of stanky wet clothes and my only pair of hiking socks (because I’m dumb) (don’t worry Mom, more are on their way). Although this might sound horrible to the inexperienced backpacker, this is actually good news since the ensuing physical activity is my only escape from the bone chill I’ve been battling the previous 10 hours. I make extra effort to ignore the fact that my rain fly is covered in frost, quickly and sloppily pack up my belongings, and get started with my day.

It only took about 30 minutes of hiking before I’m out of my John Candy hat – and back into my natural state – shorts. Fifteen miles to Tray Mountain Shelter was -again- easier and far more enjoyable than I had imagined. When you enjoy the process it’s not work. My “job” is to walk through the United States’ oldest mountain range. Compared to most, what I’m doing, again, is not work.

Good Badger in John Candy Hat

The campsite at Tray Mountain is positioned at the mountain’s summit. The view from my tent overlooks undulating terrain a hundred miles to the east. Although, a little chilly (maybe 50 degrees) the air is completely still – it’s either the most peaceful night we’ve experienced yet, or it’s the calm before the storm.

There's no way a picture could do justice to my bedtime view

3.27.2011

Turns out it was the calm before the storm.

Whoop and Badger have 11 miles to our next destination, Dick’s Creek Gap, before we can hitch a ride into the closest town, Hiawassee, to shack up in a hiker hostel for the night. Relative to the previous days, we had anticipated 11 miles to fly by. What we didn’t account for was 1) it being the most intense up and downhill to date, and 2) a downpour, 40 windy degrees, and of course a lightning storm.

Now I don’t have waterproof pants because most of my wet days will be in Virginia where it’s 50-60 degrees and raining. Doing that in full waterproof gear doesn’t allow for heat to escape your body. Essentially you turn into a self-sustaining sauna. On a day like this, however, staying dry would have been a nothing short of glorious. On the uphills, although I can feel my body roasting from the inside, the outside is freezing – I can’t tell what I am. The downhill is cold- only cold. There’s a puddle in each of my boots. I can both hear and feel the heavy slosh with each and every step. I use my Tech4o Trail Leader to give me an indication of how far away I am from the 11-mile mark, but the slippery terrain and increased slopes have done serious detriment to my pace. I stopped one time to urinate, and immediately regretted not using the warm fluid on my own body (just kidding- not really). Just one day ago the miles were flying by. Today, barely creeping.

Finally, after the longest four hour hike of my life – we arrive at Dick’s Creek Gap where we can now finally call the nearest hostel to come pick our miserable asses up.

One problem – turns out there’s no cell service (Hiawassee is 10 miles to the east). Shit. It’s okay though, we’ll hitch into town. Although we have yet to attempt this, everyone has assured us it’s easy as can be.

Problem number two. A group of hikers who had just come in from Hiawassee inform us that all of the hostel and inn rooms are booked out through Monday. Turns out this is the busiest year on the Appalachian Trail to date (I’m assuming this is because everyone was inspired by my AT prep videos), and that no one wants to be outside in cold + rain. The perfect storm for being stranded in a storm.

Whoop and Badger, share the same mindset at this point, “ehhh, fuck it. Let’s give it a shot.” Within 5 minutes, a “trail angel” (a person who delivers “trail magic” – more explanation in a future post), offers us a ride to the Hiawassee Inn – a hiker friendly, low-rate motel. Totally booked. The Holiday Inn is booked solid too. The gentleman at the office desk suggests to give the Ramada a shot. We do. They have two rooms left. At this point our hands look like blueberries in yogurt – stark white with tiny spots of blue. “YEAH, YES, YA WE’LL TAKE IT.”

[This is where I would insert a picture of our miserableness – but I was far too busy expending all of my energy on staying warm and hate.]

We get to our room, dump our muddy crap all over the bathroom and carpet (sorry Ramada), and take a second of silence to appreciate something we haven’t had in almost 24 hours – warmth. I thought the previous hot shower was the best of my life, I was way off. This one was at least a googol (foreshadowing much) times better. The shower-head had eight different settings, none of which were freezing rain. There was free hot chocolate in the lobby, cable and wi-fi in our room, and cheap laundry on our floor. We called a shuttle service aptly named “Gene Shuttles” to see how much a ride to the nearest all-you-can-eat buffet (a thru-hiker staple) would be. Gene answers his cell phone:

Gene: “Hello.”
Badger: Stunned by the informal greeting, “uh, ya, hi, is this the shuttle service?”
Gene: “Oh, uh, ya, I can shuttle.”
Badger: Slightly confused, “Cool. How much would it be to Big Al’s Pizza?”
Gene: “Pizza huh? I could go for some pizza. Don’t worry about it, what time do you want me to pick you up?”
Badger: “In 30 minutes?”
Gene: “See you then.”

Turns out Gene was just a super awesome retired guy who picks up side jobs not because he needs the money, but because he’s looking for something to keep him busy. He took us out for an all you-can-eat-pizza buffet that I will neverforget, gave us a brief tour of the Hiawassee, and gave us a ride to the grocery store so we could stock up on beer (the next day was Sunday, no beer sales [insert sad face]) – all for free. We got lots of beer. Too much beer.

In a 48 hour span I went from high as a kite, to a miserable cold low, back up to a high equal to Tray Mountain’s summit, back down to an even lower low, and then finally to a state of pure euphoria. Then to a free Don Williams concert – true story (people over 40 and country music fans know who this is).

This monster really is a mental roller coaster- and keep in mind this is just a 48 hour span in the first week of a half year adventure.

UPDATE: I have since successfully thru-hiked the AT! Who would’ve thought? (see: not most people) This is what I recommend for an Appalachian Trail Gear List

Today’s task: figure out how to get six months worth of stuff onto my back.

After months of trying to obtain sponsorship from companies, diligent research, pestering The Daily Camel on a near-daily basis, and hours of aimless meandering through REI, I’ve narrowed down my assortment of belongings. This is what it looks like.

I realize that to the untrained eye, the above photo likely looks like chaos. That’s because it is. Let’s break this chaos down a bit, shall we?.

Sock Liners (2 pair) – REI

Medium weight wool socks (2 pair) – Hi-Tec

Heavy weight wool socks – IceBreaker

Bandana (4) – Stolen from friends in college

Awesome John Candy hat – North Face

Medium weight glove liners – REI

Gaiters – REI

Short sleeve Capilene 2 Base Layer – Patagonia

Long sleeve Capilene 3 Zip-up – Patagonia

Zip-up Wool Camp Shirt – IceBreaker

Capiliene Boxer Brief (2 pair) – Patagonia

Convertible pants – Patagonia

Wool leggings – IceBreaker

This is all of the clothing I’m bringing (aside from jackets & footwear) for a 2,179 mile trek. Two pairs of underwear. TWO. I will smell like a swamp creature no less than 98% of time (my current rate is 93).

Socks: Sock liners are worn underneath the wool socks to wick moisture away. Medium-weight wool socks are help to protect your feet, they’re good at not retaining moisture, and take longer to retain a stank. The heavyweight wool socks are used exclusively at camp – something clean and dry to change into at the end of the day and keep your feet warm.

Zip-up: The IceBreaker zip-up will also be used exclusively at camp. Again changing into something dry and relatively clean will help minimize backpacking insanity.

Bandana: You’re probably wondering why if I’m bringing only 2 pairs of undies (yes, undies) why in the shit would I be bring FOUR bandanas? Other than staying fashionably sound on the trail (priority #1), bandanas serve multiple useful purposes including: filtering large chunks of crap out of stream water when filling your water bottle, cleaning dishes, drying tears out of eyes (for John), and probably a bunch of other stuff that I have already forgotten.

(Also you may notice the blue bag in the top part of the screen. It’s a bug net to be worn around my face. Although the Good Badger does not love bugs, bugs do love the Good Badger.)

The rain jacket is ultra-light weight and will be used primarily during the warmer rainy days. The Hi Tec fleece/jacket combo is my cold weather jacket and will get a lot of use in the first couple months.

One piece of advice I’ve been offered repeatedly – take care of your feet. I am in extremely good hands (reverse pun?) having the help of Hi-Tec.

Although this is the footwear I will be starting with, it’s not what will be on my feet come hike’s end. AT hikers typically go through 3-4 pairs of boots/shoes throughout the course of the trail. I purposely wanted to start with something a little heavier in the beginning as it serves to keep my feet warmer during the colder months. I will likely be switching to something lighter somewhere near the start of Virginia.

Today, my friends over at The Urban Dater posted an interview with yours truly. If you’re interested digging a little bit deeper into the dark space that is my brain, I encourage you to check out the article.

This week’s video takes us into my favorite room on earth (aside from my Erin Andrew’s shrine), the kitchen.

Apparently walking 2,200 miles while carrying the weight of a fat toddler on your back, up and down rocky terrain, burns a good amount of energy. Currently I burn just slightly more than zero calories per day.

To adequately prepare my body for this increased load, I will spend the next seven weeks eating anything that is 1) edible and 2) in sight (I’m flexible with #1). Although I haven’t read any sound advice as to why I should be doing this, my best instincts tell me to go for it. Always go with your gut.

For those who may be new to the Good Badger, I am a guy who is attempting to give new meaning to the term walking distance (i.e. hiking the Appalachian Trail).

Today’s post, on how to build your own tent, is the second edition of the “how to prepare for hiking the Appalachian Trail” video instructional series. You can watch the first video on physical endurance training here.

Although I am very attached to the tent constructed in the video below, I would be open to considering taking donations from a quality camping gear company. I demand that it be bear proof. Or at least water proof. Or at least have a zipper.

As long as I’ve signed myself up for this bout of insanity, I’m going to take the steps necessary to make sure that I’m a highly tuned hiking/camping machine before I ever step foot onto the Appalachian Trail.